


Children's Tales

by cassanah



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-10
Updated: 2010-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-10 07:54:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2017011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassanah/pseuds/cassanah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'You know, I've always admired how Wendy Darling came back and grew up in the end. And she did live quite happily.' </p><p>Susan reads to her siblings in wartime England.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Children's Tales

_Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again. – C. S. Lewis_

 

Edmund needed to use the bathroom, but someone had apparently taken up residence in the one downstairs. He thought it might have been Lucy, who liked to read in the loo, and raced for the upstairs bathroom. When he opened the door, he found Susan standing before the mirror wearing her cotton nightgown and their mother’s red lipstick.

'Haven't you heard of knocking?' she yelped.

'Well, why didn't you lock it?' he demanded, even as he backed out and shut the door firmly. He heard nothing for a few moments, except a muffled 'Humph!' and a little more loudly: 'Beastly little brothers…' Very quietly, he began to laugh.

The door to the room Susan shared with Lucy swung open and the golden head of his younger sister appeared in the hallway, frowning. ‘Was that shouting I heard?’

'I thought you were in the downstairs loo…'

'No, I've been in here, reading.' She stared at him. 'What's so funny?'

Before he could reply, Susan stepped out of the bathroom. She had evidently wiped off the lipstick, and gave him an imperious look that meant  _we shall talk later_. ‘It’s free,’ she said stiffly.

'I really did need to use it,' he told her apologetically, and then rushed into the bathroom, taking care to lock it.

He was brushing his teeth when there was an impatient rap on the door. ‘I forgot my hairbrush,’ came Susan’s voice.

It was lying on a pile of bath towels, a mixture of fair and dark hairs tangled in its teeth. He opened the door. ‘Here. I won’t tell Mum, if you were wondering.’

She looked at him suspiciously. ‘It’s past your bedtime, brother of mine. Growing boys of twelve need their rest if they wish to grow big and strong.’

'I mean it,' he told her. 'I wouldn't tell tales.'

Her face softened. ‘I know you wouldn’t.’

He suddenly felt old. At times, jarringly, his voice would modulate, grow lower, more resonant, and the feeling of being too small and too light would buzz in his limbs.

'Bedtime. It  _is_  late,’ she said after a pause.

'Yes, alright.'

Susan stood in the doorway of his room as he climbed into bed. She seemed pensive, her blue eyes fixed on something beyond the twin beds stuffed into the tiny room and the long-worn black-out curtains.

'Su? Remember when Lord Beesley asked for your hand in marriage while the three of us were discussing fruit trade routes?'

She revived, making a face of distaste. ‘Vividly.’

'Excellent,' said Peter, who had appeared at Susan's shoulder, 'are we discussing unwanted marriage proposals? Will you be joining us, Su? We could use your expertise.'

'Go to sleep, boys,' she said, half-amused and half-exasperated. 'Mum may be away, but I don't want you two staying up late.'

'Not a chance. Lucy!' Peter called. 'Come join us!'

Susan gave him a look that plainly said:  _We’re supposed to be the responsible ones!_

But he took her hands with a laugh and pulled her, reluctant as she was, into the room with him.

'By the way. What were you doing in the bathroom for so long?' Edmund asked his brother conversationally.

Susan rolled her eyes. ‘What is it with you and bathrooms? Do you know, Peter, that he recently burst in on me without even knocking?’

'I have a question,' said Edmund rather defensively. 'Why do older siblings seem to take so long when there are other people in the house who clearly also need to use the  _shared_  bathrooms? And rather urgently, too.’

Lucy bounded in at this point and promptly jumped onto Peter’s bed, grinning in her striped nightgown as she made herself comfortable. ‘What are we talking about?’

'Bathrooms,' said Susan, giving in and settling down at the foot of Edmund's bed. She gave him a particularly wicked look. 'And how a  _certain_  person hasn’t learnt to knock.’

'Not true,' muttered the person in question.

Lucy giggled. ‘I was wondering what that was all about. I was reading the part where Peter – not you, Peter, I meant Peter Pan – and he was teaching Wendy to fly when I heard you two rowing. Oh, can we read aloud tonight?’

'It's a fantastic read,' agreed Peter. 'Remember, Su? Dad read it to us every night and we practiced flying for weeks after.'

'That's right…' sighed Susan, her hand leaping to the locket at her throat as it always did whenever their father was mentioned. It had been two years and four months since he had gone off to fight. 'And we used flour for fairy powder – remember how cross Mum was at the mess?'

Lucy darted from the room and returned with a book titled  _Peter and Wendy_. It was an old copy, the pages yellow with use. The engraving on the cover showed a band of wild-looking boys gambolling, while a nefarious-looking man with a hook for a hand lurked in the background.

'Will you read, Su?'

'You've got the best voice,' Peter said, smiling at Susan. She took the book and opened it.

Edmund burrowed into the warmth of his blankets, allowing his sister’s warm, rich voice to wash over him, as lovely and as comforting as a hot bath. (Not that he would ever tell her that.) He smiled as she imbibed Peter’s voice with a carefree lilt, and Wendy’s with yearning restrained by duty. Susan read:

“ _Wendy, do come with me and tell the other boys.”_

_Of course she was very pleased to be asked, but she said, “Oh dear, I can’t. Think of mummy! Besides, I can’t fly.”_

“ _I’ll teach you.”_

“ _Oh, how lovely to fly.”_

“ _Wendy, Wendy, when you are sleeping in your silly bed you might be flying about with me saying funny things to the stars. And there are mermaids.”_

“ _Mermaids! With tails?”_

“ _Such long tails.”_

“ _Oh,” cried Wendy, “to see a mermaid!”_

_He had become frightfully cunning. “Wendy,” he said, “how we should all respect you.”_

_She was wriggling her body in distress. It was quite as if she were trying to remain on the nursery floor._

_But he had no pity for her._

“ _Wendy,” he said, the sly one, “you could tuck us in at night.”_

“ _Oo!”_

“ _None of us has ever been tucked in at night.”_

“ _Oo,” and her arms went out to him. How could she resist. “Of course it’s awfully fascinating!” she cried. She ran to John and Michael and shook them. “Wake up,” she cried, “Peter Pan has come and he is to teach us to fly.”_

There was a pause. Distantly, he heard the book snap softly shut, and then the foot of his bed shifted as Susan stood up.

'They were tired after all,' she said, her voice softer than in the daytime, when it sometimes became alarmingly like their mother's: brittle and clipped. 'That was lovely, wasn't it? I've always loved that part. The promise of a new world and mermaids and talking to the stars.'

'It's always lovely when you read to us,' replied his brother. 'It's exactly like when you used to read to Ed and Lu to help them sleep.'

'Except then we told stories about dancing fauns and old man Bacchus and dryads. I would have liked to keep one of the books from our library.'

Her voice shook a little. ‘There were so many things I wanted to do before we left. But we’ll never have another chance to go back. He said so.’

'Sh,' said Peter. There was a rustle of cotton. His voice, low and gentle, now sounded rather as though he was speaking into someone's ear. 'We'll see it again someday.'

'How do you know?'

'Once a Queen of Narnia –'

'Always a Queen,' finished Susan. There was a brief silence.

'I'll take Lu,' said Peter's voice. His footsteps moved around the bed, then retreated from the room and down the hall.

The mattress dipped as someone sank into the bed beside him, and he felt soft fingers stroking his hair. ‘I know you’re awake, Ed.’

'Well,' he murmured, half asleep.

'I'm sorry I was so cross with you today,' she said.

He opened his eyes guiltily. ‘My fault.’

'I know. Out of curiosity, do you still remember when Dad read to us each night? You were quite young.'

'I used to pretend I was too old for it.' He chuckled. 'I was such an ass.'

She breathed out a laugh. ‘It’s all in the past. He’ll be so pleased to see how much you’ve grown.’

'I miss him,' said Edmund quietly.

'The war won't go on forever. Wars never do.'

'I know it. And still…'

'I know,' she said. 'I know. Sometimes when I feel like I can't bear another moment of rationing and air raids and listening to the wireless for news – I tell myself that I'm glad I am here after all, to take care of Mum. To see Dad again. And it's true, Ed. In some ways I  _am_  glad I’m here. Is that bad?’

'No,' he said. 'I feel the same. And there are much worse things in the world.'

'Yes. There are – oh, there are children who've never known a kind word and… and men who march off to die and don't know what they're doing it for. We've little right to feel sorry for ourselves.'

'Do you think that's what Aslan meant, what he said to you before we left?'

'I'm not sure,' she admitted.

He said, drowsily: ‘We’ll always have our memories.’

'You're right. You know, I've always admired how Wendy Darling came back and grew up in the end. And she did live quite happily.'

_Even if Peter did forget her._

Susan turned off the light.

'Good night, my Lady,' he said.

She smiled at him. In the hallway’s clear bright light she looked as beautiful as when she had been a queen of another, wilder world. ‘Good night, my Lord.’

**Author's Note:**

> Written Nov 10, 2010.


End file.
